Skewed
by wolfsrun
Summary: It is only at the threshold of Death's door that the laws governing reality cease to exist and the impossible becomes possible. Oneshot...maybe. Tell me what you think! Potential for developing into a full story.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

**Chapter 1: Skewed**

A cold breeze blew through the corridors, causing him to shiver as he huddled underneath the minimal protection of his threadbare blanket. The only comfort he had as he curled up upon himself in the corner of his dark, dank cell. With nothing but cold stone and sturdy iron to surround him, he stared listlessly into the darkness as he felt the pull of the horrors that patrolled the hallways of his prison.

Azkaban. Hell on Earth. It had been a year since he had been chucked in there with only a farce of a trial to proclaim his guilt. Betrayed by his allies. The very people he had trusted as friends simply sat in a corner of the room looking at him sadly as the ministry brought forth a parade of "credible" witnesses before chucking him in here for his so-called murder of Cedric Diggory. Witnesses such as Cho Chang, who talked about how he was always jealous of Cedric because she had chosen him and did not want to date Harry. Witnesses such as Draco Malfoy, who spoke about how he had always been a jealous and violent sort, who would lash out against his betters when he did not get his way. Witnesses such as Severus Snape, who spoke of how he had no respect for rules or authority figures and was so arrogant that he acted as though others were beneath him.

No one spoke in his defense. No one cared enough to risk their own reputations to take a stand and say this was wrong. No one cared.

After his trial was over, Harry was brought to the maximum security section of Azkaban and thrown in Sirius' old cell. There was a certain irony in that, he supposed. His Godfather escapes only for Harry to take his place. Unfortunately Harry did not have an animagus transformation to manage an escape or even to help protect him from Dementor exposure.

The Dementors. That was the worst of it. Harry had always been strongly affected by them. For an indeterminate amount of time, Harry tried to ignore or resist their pull. Every time they passed, however, his darkest memories were dragged to the forefront, suppressing everything else. His beatings, the starvation, and the sneering faces of his relatives. The face beneath the turban and the shade in the forest. Being impaled on the fang of a 60 foot Basilisk. The lump of deformed flesh that was Homunculus Voldemort and his rebirth that followed. Cruciatus. **_Cruciatus_**. **_CRuCiATuS..._**

Darkness overwhelmed his thoughts and its only companions were his constant screams and the mad cackles of Bellatrix in the cell across from him.

"Poor widdle Potter. Can't handle the mean old Dementers?"

"Pathetic Potter. You're nothing compared to the Dark Lord! He will come for us! Then you'll see! Just wait for when he comes!"

"Yes! Scream! Scream for me! Sing me more of your beautiful song!"

Eventually, his screams faded to nothing as his voice tore itself apart. Eventually, his whimpers faded to nothing as his mind retreated upon itself, leaving him in a near catatonic state. Eventually, Bellatrix's mad laughter faded to nothing as she ceased to gain enjoyment from taunting an unresponsive victim.

Eventually, the Dark Lord came.

When Voldemort finally strode down the corridors of Azkaban, with his cloak billowing menacingly behind him and his followers releasing the prisoners held within, he did so with a sense of triumph, secure in the knowledge that he was unstoppable.

First, the Dark Lord released Bellatrix, who kneeled before him and kissed the hem of his robe. Then, together, they turned and faced Harry. Voldemort went on to talk for a few minutes with a contemptuous smirk on his face as he sneered down upon the one that was supposed to be his destined foe. Harry had no idea what was said as he was too far gone to register words. Then, with a twirl of his cloak, Voldemort spun and headed off, leaving Harry to his ignoble fate.

Bellatrix just stared down at him for a bit longer. For a moment, the madness was gone as she silently commiserated with her fellow prisoner. There seemed to be genuine regret and sympathy in her gaze, but an instant later it was gone and she ran off to catch up with her master.

Then he was alone. Well, alone except for the Dementors. Many of them were left behind to remain in Azkaban. Lucky him.

Harry had long since lost track of time and even rational thoughts. The only thing that registered as he felt hunger pains being added to his constant misery, was that before Voldemort's visit, he was at least fed regularly. Now, his meals had stopped arriving. If he had been capable of considering why this had occurred he probably would have realized that Voldemort's visit coincided with the destruction of Azkaban's human guards.

With the betrayal of the Dementors, the ministry felt that Azkaban was not worth the resources needed to reclaim it while fighting a war against Voldemort. He was forgotten about as everyone expected him to be dead after Azkaban's conquest.

For a while, he was able to subsist off of the water that dripped into his cell and the occasional rat he was able to catch. Still, it was only a matter of time before he was overwhelmed.

As hunger pains clawed at his gut, and madness ate at his mind, the last of his sanity retreated further and further within himself.

Then, as his mind was corrupted and decayed, his magic latched on to the last of what made Harry, Harry. This sliver of thought was cocooned in his magic, and for a time, it was safe. Eventually, as starvation truly set in, Harry's body began to break down, and his magic erode. In an attempt to stave off the inevitable, the last shred of Harry's humanity retreated further and further within his magic. Then, as his body lay comatose on his cell floor, Harry's magic responded to his desperate gambit for survival by drawing in this fragment of his mind that continued to break apart as it struggled for survival. Harry's magic drew this aspect of himself further and further towards its center in order to protect it from the dangers coming from without.

Guided not by thought, but by instinct, this seed of Harry's very being delved further into the core of magic than anyone had ever gone before. This was made possible by only one thing. Normally, a human mind, even one consumed by madness, is too structured to survive in the chaotic eldritch energies that compose the very center of the human magical core. Indeed, magicals are not even aware this exists as the human mind is incapable of processing such raw primal energy, and instinctually avoids recognizing such a thing in order to prevent from destroying itself. However, Harry's advantage was that he did not encounter this energy with his full mind. He did not even possess a fragment of his mind when this encounter occurred. A fragment of a fragment was all that was left. A mere splinter of his mind, containing the flavor of his soul and kissed by his magic was all that remained of what was once Harry Potter.

Harry Potter was at Death's door and being left with so little, he became capable of so much more. Guided by instinct and empowered by magic, the gateway to the magic's heart opened for him.

No longer possessing the capacity for thought, there was only need. And the heart of magic responded to this need. Soon, Harry Potter was no more.

* * *

><p>In a distant time and place, a miracle of magic occurred. A young couple, consumed by passion, remained entirely unaware as a pulse of magic surrounded them and entered their bodies. As the young wizard released his essence into his spouse, the magic surrounding them faded as it began to concentrate in the young witch's womb.<p>

As sperm met ovum, the heart of magic brought forth the splinter of Harry James Potter to join in the mix. Combined into a new cohesive whole with a surge of power that caused the collapse of the couple's contraceptive charms, a new life that never should have existed took root.

It was near the end of 1950, and in nine months, on July 31, 1951, a new child would be born, forever skewing the future from what could have been.

**A/N: Okay, sorry for my long silence, but I have a lot going on in my personal life, so if I have upset anyone with my unexpected silence, I apologize. Work, school, and life take up a lot of time. Unfortunately, my laptop with my notes for my other story broke and has been in for repairs for the past month. Well…in twice as the first go round didn't fix it. As I don't want to mess around with my first story without my notes (and the chapter I had written and was in the process of proofing), I have decided to throw this idea out there that took root in my mind while working from another computer. Right now it is a oneshot that simply sets the stage for a future story. If I develop it, I might make it a Harry/Bellatrix story (the foreshadowing is obviously there). I also left it a bit open at the end, as I am not sure who I want Harry's parents to be. Hell, I could rewrite the ending passage and gift Harry to the infertile Flamels and see where that takes me. At least, I assume they are infertile and will paint them as such if I do pursue that idea. Or perhaps I could change the date I sent him to and put him in the midst of Grindelwald's war, the Founder's era, or even the time of Merlin. Really, Harry could pop up anywhere with this premise, but I think having him during the first rise of Voldemort is compelling and still keeps the prophecy viable even if it hasn't occurred yet.**

**I hope you enjoyed this, and if you want me to pursue this idea please throw out a review with any thoughts and/or suggestions.**


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